


Umbra Mortis

by TheReluctantRealist



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Azriel is a sex god (don't we know that?), Crack Relationships, F/M, I DO NOT SHIP THESE TWO, NOTP, Nesta is a death god, OOC Azriel, OOC Nesta, Ok bye, POV Nesta Archeron, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, crack!fic, dom!Azriel, like at all, purely self indulgent, sub!nesta, the title is clickbait lmao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:34:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23952376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantRealist/pseuds/TheReluctantRealist
Summary: Reaching out to the heart of the shadows, I extended a hand, and felt a thrill pass through me as a calloused palm stroked my skin.--Out on a mission, Nesta Archeron finds out what makes the Shadowsinger sing.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron/Azriel
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	Umbra Mortis

**Author's Note:**

> Wow okay.  
> This is what happens when I am procrastinating on my branika fic and am sleep deprived.  
> My poor Nessian heart is in shreds :(  
> I tried a new style of writing in this one, so there's that.
> 
> I am not Sarah J Maas, and if I were her, ACOFAS wouldn't have happened.

The Spymaster was angry.

He hid it well, his handsome face calm as he spoke to the officer from the southern continent, but I knew that he was angry. His shoulders were tense, and a nerve twitched in his sharp jaw.

I had come to know a lot of things about Azriel in the past month, camped out at Hybern’s beaches. Half a decade had passed since the War and the political crisis in the island kingdom had worsened, with the nobility contacting Prythian lords for help as the country faced a civil war. Rhysand had been the first High lord to respond ,with Helion agreeing to rally some of his forces with the Night Court’s. 

Azriel and I had accompanied the first squadron to Hybern’s shores as Feyre and Mor had to negotiate with Hewn City while Cassian was off gathering some more Illyrian forces. Between Azriel’s killing power and the honed soldiers of the Night Court, Hybern’s nobility were able to suppress the rebel uprisings who threatened to drag the country back to the days of Amarantha and the erstwhile King.

I shuddered as my arms suddenly felt sticky, warm with the King’s blood. Biting my lip, I scratched my wrist absently, lost in thought, when Azriel turned, his gaze meeting mine, and gave a wan smile.

I realised that I had been staring at him all this time and resisted the urge to drop my gaze. I had never been one prone to blushing, and I was glad to note that getting thrown into the Cauldron hadn’t changed that. Nesta Archeron did not blush, and certainly not when caught staring at the Spymaster of the Night Court.

He walked over to where I was standing, his face grim. 

“What did he say?”

His hazel eyes were troubled as he stood near me, his finger brushing a spot on the map. He radiated warmth and I shivered, not entirely from the cold.

“A rebel faction has been spotted swiftly moving towards our camp in camouflage. They seem to be armed with ashwood arrows, my lady."

I held up a hand.

“Call me Nesta. Did he know where their base might be situated?”

He shook his head.

“He didn’t, but I can find out. Hold my arm please, if you may.”

I held his proffered arm, a grave fear of losing him to the shadows catching me unawares. A part of me marvelled at the strength embodied in his muscled arm, and my fingers, unable to resist themselves, lightly caressed his forearm, admiring the smooth brown skin.

His shadows swirled around the two of us as his face grew unfocused, the shadows whispering to his soul. Gloomy wisps trailed over the map before congregating over a mark of a bridge.

His eyes cleared and I let go of his arm, feeling rather embarrassed. I didn’t know what had possessed me to act in a manner so brazen, and could only hope that he wouldn’t comment.

I could only watch the beautiful male in front of me speak, his voice deep and earthy, and my hands were clenched as I resisted the urge to brush the stray curl falling over his forehead away.

“Their base is about fifty miles away. It will take us three hours to move the armies there. What do you suggest?”

I realised a minute too late that I had been asked a question. Ignoring the knowing spark in his eyes, I thought for a minute.

“The camp can deal with the moving faction, Mother knows how antsy they’ve gotten. You and I can fly to the base first, with the aerial legion flying close behind. You can clear a path for me to capture their leader as a prisoner.”

He turned to face me fully and crossed his arms, the sleeves of his jacket stretching thin over his well built shoulders. I may have looked a bit, and judging from the quirk of his lips, he knew.

I shouldn’t have brought those smutty novels with me.

“Why a prisoner? Why can’t we just kill him?”

“If this venture had been one purely for eliminating foes, then yes, but this is a diplomatic mission. I haven’t been sent here as Nesta the Cauldron-Born,” I smirked a little at the title,” but as an Emissary of the Night Court. Handing over political prisoners would aid Rhysand’s cause and open up avenues for potential trade relations.”

Nodding, he chuckled as he walked over to a box and removed his jacket, my stomach fluttering at the sight of his powerful back. I frowned.

“Huh?”

I stifled a gasp as he stripped off his offwhite linen shirt, the muscles in his back ripping as he bent over, rummaging through his belongings. His leather trousers accentuated the defined curve of his buttocks, and I cleared my throat, feeling strangely bashful.

“Nesta the Cauldron-Born,” He chuckled again, pulling a black shirt over his head. A small part of me might have sighed.”I never knew you would be one who would take to such titles.”

I bit back the cruel retort rising in my throat and shrugged, crossing arms on my chest. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

His smile was dazzling. 

“Indeed, Nesta.” He grabbed his armour from the trunk and walked past me. “I will meet you by the flag in fifteen minutes.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realise that I had been holding in. My name had no rights to become a caress on his lips. 

My body had changed, I noticed as I changed, no longer gaunt and haggard due to hunger. Gone were the days when I used to punish my body for my sins, abuse and neglect forming a rite of atonement. Finding my way out of the darkness had been arduous yet worth it, I realised as I removed my tunic, looking at the seamless flow of muscles under my skin. With a stretch, I donned a fitting shirt and a vest made of Illyrian leather, my arms left bare.

I glanced into the mirror and was not pleased at the sight of my face. I was never a warm person, either as human or as Fae. While my bonds with my sisters had improved to a great degree, both of them knew that while my edges might have softened, expecting warmth from my end would be a vain exercise. My face had ensured that I did not have to put up with people’s bullshit, but looking at those flushed cheeks and too-bright eyes, I had to second-guess myself.

Shadows danced at the far end of the tent, misting into thin air as I looked.

I felt uncomfortably aware in my own skin as I walked out of the tent, my lips set in a grim line. Crossing the armoured Illyrian legion, I approached Azriel, who stood by the flagpole. staring at his scarred hands as the breeze ruffled his hair.

For a fleeting moment, I wished I was Feyre, only so I could recreate the scene on canvas. 

“Ready?” I asked as a way of greeting.

He looked up and my breath caught in my throat, the lazy sun lighting up his eyes in shades of hazel and gold. Nodding, he clasped my arm and pulled me close to his chest, his other arm resting over my waist as we shot up into the air. The Illyrians were to land ten minutes after us.

My stomach lurched to my knees - five years of being carried out by Illyrians, and I still hadn’t gotten used to the sensation. Screwing my eyes shut, I fought with my instincts before giving in and buried my head in the crook of his neck, terrified.

“It takes time to get used to.”

I glared at him.

“Easy for you to say, you have been flying since birth.”

He shook his head.

“My stepmother...she locked me up till I was eleven. I learnt flying later when I was let out by the other villagers who came rushing, hearing my screams as my stepbrothers burned my hand.”

I looked up and saw him staring right back at me, the depths of his eyes burning with a cold fierce rage, rage that was mirrored in my own eyes as I felt murderous, the immense well of power in my soul yawning open at the thought of those who would neglect and hurt children.

Creation thrummed under my skin.

His shadows flurried around us, agitated, when he gently stroked my back, murmuring into my hair.

“Shhh…”

I realised that I had lightning sparking at my fingers and took a deep breath, willing the rage to simmer below the surface. I hadn’t used my powers in a week, and it had taken its toll, the force roiling in me making me growl as I struggled to hold it back.

“It’s alright, Nesta.”

A tender, fleeting touch of his lips to my temple, and I froze, dumbstruck. The furious energy in me waned in response, and he chuckled darkly, his shadows settling down into swirling mists once more.

“Thought that would shut you up.”

Mortified at my warm cheeks, I scrunched my eyes tight, covering my face with my hand as we soared through the skies, Azriel silently laughing in my hair.

*

The camp was bigger than we had thought, and they had been waiting for us. The chief had tamed a flock of vicious bird shifter Fae, their pointed beaks oily, glinting in the sun. Alarmed, I whispered in his ear as he set me down quickly on the soft grass, “The beaks. Poison.”

Nodding fervently, he unstrapped his swords from his back, his siphons glowing an unearthly blue as his shadows shot out, swirling around his flared wings. He chucked one of those at me and I caught the blade, switching it to my left hand as my hands felt the balance, and nodded.

We sliced through the squadron in a matter of minutes. 

Naga, wraith, High Fae - when kissed by steel, all bodies wept the same. I slashed and struck at the mass of bodies without a thought, keeping a lid on my power till the signal was sounded.

And there it was, a heartbeat later. The aerial legion of Illyrians landed in perfect harmony, blowing their horns together, and the resounding _BOOM_ made the earth tremble. With a mighty roar, the Hybern rebels charged, their claws and fangs and swords glinting in the afternoon sun.

Closing my eyes, I drew out a black dagger from my trousers, running my thumb over its edge until the cool blade bit my skin, a drop of my blood making its way down to the tip, before being sucked into it. 

_Nesta Archeron...Cauldron born…_ The ancient, hateful voice beckoned to me, and I felt the battle around me slow down to a lull, soldiers of either side stunned into silence as the Bogge approached from the woods.

_I was power, and creation my song._

Turning, I opened my eyes and faced the oncoming horde of Bogge head-on, their revolting forms freezing in their tracks in shock as I cocked my eyebrow and raised my dagger, sparks flying at my fingers. Shadows danced their way to me, swirling around me, kissing my skin as they felt around, curious, playing with my magic.

Reaching out to the heart of the shadows, I extended a hand, and felt a thrill pass through me as a calloused palm stroked my skin. Power flashed through me and I cut the air with my dagger, the hair on my body standing on end as the air crackled with electricity and shade. The storm cleared a moment later, a cool breeze stirring up the ashy remains of the Bogge.

I could feel the eyes of both friend and foe as I walked into the heart of the battle, surrounded by lightning and shadow, ignoring every gaze except one, the Illyrian male whose hazel stare burned into my bones, a cruel smile gracing those obscene lips as he cut off the head of a rebel as I watched. He raised two bloody fingers to his forehead in a mock salute.

My blood stirring under his stare, I bared my teeth in a savage grin.

*

With the best weapon in their arsenal decimated, the rebel leader complied with little resistance. The High Fae rebels had been taken prisoner and the lesser fae left free. The Illyrian soldiers had protested, their Siphons still pulsing with power, but Azriel had been firm, and when I walked into the war-room, the males had fallen silent, their heads bowed down in agreement.

A hearty feast later, I trudged back to my tent, feeling strangely light in a way I hadn’t felt in years. The power in me lay slumbering yet I was wide awake as I laid down on the mattress, my body roused and expectant. Biting my lip, I unlaced my trousers and peeled them off, my limbs erupting into gooseflesh in the cool breeze. Shivering, I removed my tunic and let my hair free, my hands tracing spirals all over my body and I sighed.

My back arched as I tweaked and teased my nipple with my fingers toying with my clit, the darkened room my sole witness, when a soft mouth latched onto my nipple, his hot tongue writing his name on my skin. I gasped, my hand yanking into his hair as he groaned, his head reaching up as our lips met.

“There you are. I’ve been waiting for you.”

Azriel chuckled darkly as settled between my legs, the sheer fabric of his pants being the only barrier between our bodies. His hand crept down my body as his fingers replaced mine own, his sure strokes stoking the fire in me higher and higher. Palming my breast, he kissed me again, tasting like wine and night. And I, who had been sober for five years, drank him in, my hand slipping into his trousers to hold him gently, my thumb stroking the sensitive tip.

He groaned into my mouth and gave a gentle thrust of his hips against mine, and I growled, the light pressure maddening. 

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?” Azriel mumbled against my neck as he held my wrists above my head, my body writhing as his shadows rippled on my skin before tying my hands together in a rope of dark kisses. Sitting up, he traced the length of my leg and back up again, making my toes curl.“I want to play.”

My greedy gaze breathed him in, the elegant lines of his face sharpened in the night, the feverish gleam in his eyes that I knew rivalled mine. I raised my leg and placed it on his shoulder, the summons clear as his gaze zeroed in to my sex. “Why don’t you?”

Smirking, he stood up, his fingers toying with the hamstrings of his pants in leisure. I groaned as he stepped out of the cloth, his cock deliciously erect. Settling between my legs, he barely gave me time to appreciate _him_ when his shadows closed over my eyes, in time with his precise and calculated lick.

Oh.

Azriel made me scream as his tongue swirled and twirled and kissed my clit, his fingers sliding in and out of me gently. I moaned out blissful nothings, my eyes seeing stars in the shadows. He stroked me and kissed me faster and faster, and I begged, crying out for him.

His mouth left me cold and I growled, writhing against the sheets. “Azriel...please…”

The shadows let me free just as he placed his wet lips on mine, my sex aching as I tasted myself. His fingers pinched my nipples as he slowly slid into me, muttering harshly into my mouth.

“You were a good girl tonight. The next time I won’t let you off this easily.”

I came apart in his arms, his name a battle cry.

He chuckled as he slid out, my body already longing for his cock, when he folded my legs and pressed my knees to my chest, kissing my forehead as he slid into me again, my muscles latching onto his thick length eagerly.

_Oh._

I could feel him in me more deeply than before, the tip of his wonderful cock brushing against my walls in the most decadent fashion, and I clenched around him as he thrusted faster, his mouth pouring sin into my ears.

The second time around, I shattered, and he followed me, my name a caress on his tongue.

We lay there in silence, sleepy, my head on his chest as I traced circles on his skin, him chuckling softly as I quivered with aftershocks. Reaching up, I kissed him, settling into a peaceful sleep, my last thought of his sated face, free of any shadows.

**Author's Note:**

> Is it weird that the one fic I am super proud of is of a crack!pairing? This was purely self indulgent and OOC for both of them IMO, but I'll be damned if I didn't enjoy every second of writing it.
> 
> My tumblr is @countessdankula, pop in and yell at me to finish my branika fic.


End file.
